


You don't know what it's been like

by LittleSister



Category: Masters of Sex
Genre: F/M, I couldn't wait to finish it to post something, I'm even more wordy than I was before sorry heh, sorry for the anon teasing thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSister/pseuds/LittleSister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I need jealous Bill Masters more than I need food, right now.</p><p>(title is from "Superman" by Stereophonics, give it a listen because that song.. kinda helped out a bit, for this one)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I may have retired to a quiet life, but I left with the pending promise of some jealousy sex, remember? I do. I had this floating around for soooooooo long.. might as well make it into something.  
> I initially thought it was gonna be short and plotless and just a small casual thing really, that's why I started submitting it as anon messages on tumblr, but then I jumped on the drama bandwagon and it got ridiculously long. So here we go, have the first, very mild part while I go elbow-deep in filth and try to finish it.

Gini opens her eyes to the dim light of her bedroom, mind still foggy and her body heavy and content. A sleepy smile stretches across her cheeks as she listens to the sound of streaming water from the bathroom, her eyes adjusting to the darkness and lazily acknowledging the presence of male clothing scattered around. Her smile widens when she hears a voice rising just barely above the sound of the shower, crooning low and confident but soft enough not to wake her up and she drifts back to sleep, lulled by a heartfelt rendition of My funny valentine.   
The warmth of a broad hand on her back makes her will her eyes into opening again, to be greeted by a quick kiss and a "I better get going, I'll see you tomorrow, yes?"   
And her eyes see him, her skin recognizes the smell and touch of him. Her body knows it's him and it wants to speak up, but the thick haze of sleep is like a muzzle, and her brain is a filthy traitor who's been waiting to catch her off guard.  
"Yeah sure, I'll see you at the clinic"  
Logan's brows draw together in a confused frown, and he looks at her for a second. A rush of heat runs through Gini's body, but she tries her best to hide the huge "FUCKFUCKFUCK" sign blinking on her forehead, hoping he'll blame her very Freudian slip on the typically post-coital stupidity.   
Fortunately he does, or at least he's smart enough to pretend he did, because he smiles and kisses her forehead again, closing the door of her bedroom softly behind him as he goes.  
Gini waits until she hears her front door slam close, and the engine starting a few moments later, to sit up between the crumpled sheets and stare at the wall in front of her, one hand scratching at the top of her messy hair.  
They weren’t supposed to work together at the clinic that day, and Dan knew Gini was way too organized to get confused about her work schedule. He couldn't possibly believe that she actually meant to say what she said, and while she assured him that nothing whatsoever was going on between her and bill.. well, Gini could never completely wipe away the feeling that he.. knew. On the other hand, to be fair, Gini always felt like everybody knew, around her. George's traces might be long gone, but Gini felt like Bill's marks were always there to be seen by anyone who looked- and not even that closely. And she always told herself  "Screw it, let them think whatever they damn please", but maybe there was a little more to it. Maybe she unconsciously wanted people to see Bill on her. Well, as it turned out, not so unconsciously.

She shut her eyes tight and chased the thought away, feeling dirty with no idea why.

 

(at the clinic, later)

 

“I could, uh, come over to your place later, see if we can be done with this and uh-“

Bill’s eyes wander while he speaks, his hands moving indistinctively in his pockets as if he was fishing for his words there.

“Yes. Yes, why not.. it’s been a while, after all.”

Gini’s a little taken aback from the eagerness of her response, and she answers looking down, unaware of Bill’s gaze searching what he can see of her features.

She’s been watching him all day with her guard up, like an adopted cat who still doesn’t know how to deal with her new owner. He looks like a block of ice trying to school himself into human behavior, sometimes his voice sounds like it’s coming through gritted teeth, like Bill is biting on a leather strap to keep himself from showing what’s eating him. Which feels sort of nostalgic to Gini, compared to the renewed Bill Masters she kind of got used to seeing around lately, all fur coats and burning need to rescue the poor suffering men. It still confuses her how sometimes she can feel so resentful towards him, so much that she finds herself wondering how it would feel to slap him across the face, right in his office, once everyone has left and they’re alone in the building, the sound echoing around the empty rooms and Bill’s faint groan turning into deep, rumbling breathing, his gaze burning a trail along Gini’s body for his hands to follow..

And that’s where the real confusion kicks in. It’s not so much that she still wants to be with Bill, it’s kind of more the fact that she’s the one having an affair with a(nother) married man behind Bill’s back, yet she’s the resentful one. Like somehow everything always links back to Bill, like it’s all.. his fault.

When she’s finally alone in her car at the end of the day, with no eyes on her, Gini takes a moment to focus on the strange void she’s been feeling in her stomach since she agreed on having Bill come over: it’s the familiar, long lost excitement to be with him, mixed with the everlasting surge of hurt pride she feels toward him for spilling himself all over her life, his presence like an aftertaste to whatever she does, whatever she is.

 

They're alone now.

It's been so long since the last time, maybe that's why Gini feels somehow weird having him at her house, in the room where Dan was, with her, just hours before. Papers scattered across the duvet, the warm light of the lamps washes over Bill, making the rims of his glasses shimmer: Gini spaces out watching that trembling flash of gold, his words echoing eerily in her ears. She’s not really listening, self consciously focused on the pump of her heartbeat, the steady cycle of her breathing, and she marvels at the way she knows exactly what he’s saying by the cadence of his voice, by the.. shape of the syllables he’s forming, however abstract that may sound. She knows they’re finished, and picking up all the documents and setting them on the nightstand feels like a ritual, so much that she can do it confidently without really paying attention to the surroundings, so absorbed into her own torn confusion that she doesn’t notice the way Bill’s muscles have been straining the whole evening, dark circles under his eyes.

Gini’s still looking down at her floor, head trapped inside a bubble that makes every external noise sound fuzzy, when Bill’s hand comes tearing through the fog, landing quietly on her cheek and sliding towards her neck, traces of warmth buzzing on Gini’s skin. It must be the second time she looks into his eyes since he arrived, after the quick glance she shot him at her front door, letting him in, and there it is: the slimy, miry feeling from that same morning, crawling under her skin like mud was running through her veins. She doesn’t take her eyes off of Bill’s though, and she finally catches a glimpse of the bruises he seems to have been carrying around for some days now. Fresher, angrier than the ones Gini’s used to sense when she’s beside him, but his latest wounds feel alarmingly akin to the ones she knows she’s caused. Maybe she’s being paranoid again, or maybe it’s the way Bill’s lips yank her away from her reflection, breaking the tension between them with a kiss that’s both hungry and aggressive, his whole body leaning into hers, pressing her into the bed.

It’s stunning the way Bill feels like a stranger and home at the same time: it’s like hearing a song you used to love and haven’t listened to in a while, and realizing you still know all the lyrics. Her fingers comb through the hair on Bill’s nape, his scent fills every cavity of her brain like it did a dozen times in her dreams, and Gini shivers at the sticky pleasure of running her tongue over his bottom lip and feeling him swallow hard before diving back down to kiss her again, sloppy and open mouthed.

Bill abruptly pushes himself up and grabs one of Gini’s calves to spread her legs apart so he can crawl forward between them. His weight is nothing more than a suggestion on top of gini as Bill keeps his body just a mere inch away from hers, balancing on elbows and knees, his shirt completely open and untucked where gini's hands are working on it. His lips skim slowly along gini's neck, idling wherever a faint red mark is and licking his way up, on a wet trail of spit-sloppy moans and nibbles. Gini huffs and tosses like she's drowning: not that she's not enjoying this slow build-up after the long abstinence, but she would actually just rather him to hurry and just-

"Bill.."  
Gini bends her legs and entwines her calves with Bill's, his knees pressing on the back of her thighs while she slips her fingers under his shirt and digs her nails in the muscles of his back, feeling them tense up as Bill's shoulder blades draw together, his head dropping low to whisper a gravelly "yes?" Against her cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there. Not there yet, sorry. Oh, and keep in mind I wrote this before I saw 3x09, so in here Gini doesn't have any certainty about Bill knowing of her and Dan, or, well, she's not even sure he suspects.

"Just-ah- just get to it, would you?"  
Her breath hitches when he casually grinds his hips down on her, back arching into her body, his weight spreading her legs further into the mattress and all their clothes starting to feel like sand-paper. Bill's deep, drawn-out moan echoes the sensation shooting up from Gini's stomach: she feels him getting harder as his pants drag along the fabric of her underwear, and it feels like finally soaking in your own bath tub after a very long trip. But then he lifts himself back up and his lips feel like they're everywhere except where Gini wants them to be.

"Have you got somewhere to be?"  
His voice sounds like lava bubbling up inside a corked bottle, the explosion looming under the surface whilst eating away at the walls of its container, and Gini shivers at the force with which one of his hands closes around her wrist and tugs it away from the collar of his shirt, pinning it down on the pillow. She would feel a little threatened, or maybe just suspiciously concerned if the touch and the sound of his tongue on her ear lobe wasn't so distracting.

"No, I- you're welcome to tease me later if you really want to, but I-"   
Bill closes his lips around one of the small nubs poking insistently from Gini's blouse, the fabric getting instantly damp and warm around it. His other hand slides to the other breast under her clothes, fingers toying with her nipple while Gini chokes out a groan and bill hums against her chest.   
She rips her own shirt open, tiny buttons clinking on the floor and her body writhing under Bill to get more contact. Impassive, he keeps his focus on her right nipple, hard sucks alternated with the slow circling of his tongue, pleasure spiked by the wet patch of cloth starting to get cold when his mouth leaves it. He mimics the movements with his fingers on her left nipple: soft pinching and stroking circles around the stiff, over-sensitive skin of her areola with the pad of his thumb.   
He finally stops to take Gini’s blouse off, unzipping her rumpled skirt too to leave her in just her underwear, dark eyed and painfully flustered, legs spread wide with bill kneeling between them. She sits up to tug Bill's belt from its loops, hungry lips skimming along his lower ribs. This is where she would expect him to put his hands on her, to hear the need and the hitch in his breathing, but he stays almost perfectly still, and Gini feels his muscles going taut when she bites on the skin over his diaphragm, her hands stroking up along his sides. She pulls slightly back to look at him, trying her best to keep her panting in control and Bill smiles down at her: crooked, silent.

"..What?"  
Gini breathes more than asks the question, shivering from the over-heating of her body mixed with the nagging, throbbing need to fling herself around his chest. It’s unnerving, and it’s unfair he’s making her feel like this, like he’s calling all the shots: like he’s not the one who was about to crumble without her at his side.. twice.  
"Remember when you tied me up..?"  
It feels like he wanted to say more, and Gini hates that she can't bring herself to just shatter this dam between them, that it's way easier to work it out like this, than to speak up and look into each other's eyes while saying things they both may not be ready for, so she’s annoyed, yes, but she feels even worse about the chill that runs down her spine at the memory.  
The whole thing feels like the old times, when their meetings at the hotel tasted like red wine and sin, when she would find herself daydreaming about finally kissing Bill's lips like a 15 year old fantasizes about the car she still can't have, knowing it's going to be hers sooner or later.   
Oh, to realize how far they've come. But Gini can't help but frown as she tips her head down to press a kiss where Bill's collar bones meet. Have they really made any progress at all? How ironic to marvel at how more mature their relationship has gotten while they both try their best to keep this sort of pathetic facade up: pretending not to know exactly what's going on between them, as it's always been.

Gini yelps again as Bill pushes her out of her thoughts and off of him, and she lands bouncing on the mattress, the surprise and weird intensity of the gesture causing a hesitant smile to tug at her lips. When she looks up, Bill's eyes are hard, possibly more than the bulge pressing into the meat of her inner thigh as he drops his body down and bites at the same spot she just kissed on his chest. He sucks on her skin, a low hum and the smell of his hair clouding Gini's mind, the wet ghost of his teeth turning bright red.  
She scrapes her nails along his shoulder blade and thinks of the man who gave her a fur coat to prove how much he valued her, she thinks of how many more times this man started smiling during the day, compared to some older version of her colleague, of her.. partner.   
Is this a fantasy? Is Gini only dreaming of the hard, warm shape of Bill's chest against hers? Or is she in bed with Dan, with her eyes closed and a little too much wine into her system? It's happened sometime: she would glance up at Dan and see Bill's face for a second, or Dan would put his arms around her and whisper into her ear before she was falling asleep and she would hear Bill's voice, feel his hands on her.   
But this has to be real, Gini thinks to herself when Bill’s tongue drags up her neck, the sound of his zipper going down and the pressure of his legs bearing down on hers disappearing for a couple of extremely empty seconds before scorchingly coming back, skin on skin this time.   
Gini whines and snakes a hand down between them to cup him though slightly damp cotton and yes, it's definitely real, the low, impossibly familiar growl that fills her ear and whole body.   
Bill lifts himself up to look into her eyes, the vague trace of a sneer twisting his lips. He grinds his hips down in slow, calculated swings, shoving the air out of Gini's lungs with every push, like he's forgot that they might actually have to take their underwear off before he can start pulling out his moves. Gini arches her back on every thrust, trying her best not to sound like she's in pain but she just can't seem to control her throat anymore, waves of heat and pleasure and an unrelenting pressure shaking her core, her insides tingling like she swallowed burning feathers. She can see bill's blood runs hard and fast in his neck, his moans turning into gasps and sharp grunts, like he's physically forcing himself to go slow, his cock twitching furiously and his thighs strained.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> still kinda not there, sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, so this got kind of angsty, I'm sorry. Also, I really let myself go with metaphors and whatnot, and I know I can get kind of.. annoying with it, but I just can't help it, I could go on forever writing in very-upset-Bill POV. So there you have it.

Bill looks at his own reflection in her eyes, his perception somewhat pulsing along with the violence of his heartbeat, and the force of every new wave of blood storms through his body, making his head dizzy and his cock like it might never go back down. Her pupils are blown, incredibly so, and Bill wonders why he never noticed how she looks sort of demonic like this, a creature who wants to suck him dry, eyes as black as her hair.  
_"Oh but her heart is black too"_ hisses something inside of Bill’s head, a voice sharp and cold that echoes deep in his skull like a boulder falling down a well.  
To be honest, he's the one who's being fairly cruel, dragging out every last bit of frustration he can gauge, and his beloved colleague  positively looks like she's being bled dry.    
Gini's been whining aloud for a good five minutes now, bill coldly notices as he glances over at the clock on the nightstand before sitting back on his heels reaching for his rumpled shirt somewhere behind him. The sound of her voice slowly dies down and the earthquake crackling through her limbs settles to a slight tremble once bill is done rolling and coiling the white fabric, reveling for a second in the twisted joy of doing something that would almost horrify him in any other situation. He can still feel the trail of warmth left by Gini's hands as they slid from his sides to his thighs, where they're resting now, and he gulps down all the thoughts clutching at his throat as he nods in the headboard's general direction, hoping his partner will understand so he doesn't have to speak. Bill knows his voice would betray him right now: he feels it in the way his fingers shake and linger on the spot where her pulse pounds steadily against her skin, and his ribs are too tight around his lungs when he meets her eyes. Bill pulls on both ends of his rolled up shirt with a little too much enthusiasm, and the soft groan Gini lets out hits his stomach like a punch: did she ever do this with.. _him_? Has _he_ ever played with her like this?

Did she let him?

Broken images of her face twisting up with pleasure and someone else’s deep groans rake Bill's mind when he presses his lips to her temple, kissing his way down to her ear as she  starts to squirm under him, impatient, helpless.  
Bill's hands itch with the need to bury themselves into her skin, to be wrapped around her, to steal and hide Gini away from everything else, but they settle for her shoulders, sliding down her front, stopping by her breasts to squeeze and knead, moving further down when Gini starts voicing out her appreciation. Closing his eyes, bill pushes his nose in the crook of her neck and inhales her scent until his lungs burst at the seams, anticipating the searing twinge he feels in his groin when he plunges two fingers inside of her without any warning: Gini almost screams before clenching around the unexpected intrusion, the surprise of finally getting the sharp sensation she needed intoxicating, but the noose in her throat loosens when Bill's thumb strokes up between her folds until it reaches the throbbing nub on top of them, pressing down lightly, circling, and Gini swears she could as well have melted into a puddle, for all the control she has on her body in that moment, not even minding the discomfort starting to build in her restricted arms.  
Bill's lips twist into a sneer as he watches Gini move under him: sinuous, fluid and restless, a slice of molten heaven he can furl and unravel  as he pleases. He would have felt powerful, once, in the position he currently is, looming over Gini knowing he is the only thing staining her senses, knowing exactly what string to pull with the right intensity to make her feel like the atmosphere had run out of oxygen. Something vaguely similar to nostalgia brushes his mind: he knows now every swing he takes at her is like a punch thrown at his own jaw, and it's like he can feel his own hands tightening around his heart every time he imagines hurting her in any possible way.  
Bill smiles at the wheezed "nonopleaseno" slipping out of her when his fingers pull slightly back, and she rocks down towards them, biting down hard on her bottom lip.  
He idly wonders what's going on behind her closed eyes, whose face flashes into her mind when the rock hard outline of Bill's cock pushes against her inner thigh, straining inside his damp boxers: a rush of raw, flayed feelings surges from deep inside of him at the thought, and the sound of Gini's aching moans feels like salt on the open wound, so he brings his free hand to Gini's mouth and slips two languid fingers between her lips, his hips jerking hard when she eagerly sucks and hums around them, tongue swirling slowly and her eyes half open, piercing right through Bill's.

Gini says his name over and over, now only muttered, now almost shouted, urgency bearing down on the first letter, the vowel dragged like a tooth being pulled out, wrinkling on the double L like burning paper.   
Bill perceives every one of Gini's ragged breaths as if they were the same person, the spot where her inner thighs meet his hip joints so hot he genuinely thinks this is what being welded together must be like.   
And it's all fine, as long as it keeps his name on her lips, his name, Bill's name, even the pained sobs that shake Bill's stomach are fine because he can take it, he can take the absurdity of denying himself a pleasure that's right fuckin there as long as _she_ can, because now that she's finally right there, Bill feels like he could take anything just to make her stay, anything, even denying them both what they want so bad, _so bad_ it starts to seriously hurt.   
Bill yanks his underwear down with a growl, and has to grip hard at the base of his cock with his still spit-slick fingers, screwing his eyes shut and forcing himself to remember what looking at her when he's still fully clothed felt like, these days, when being three fingers deep inside of her is not a mitigating circumstance. But it's so hard to keep cold when she's dripping into his palm and everything is on fire, when her walls flex around his knuckles and her legs wrap around his hips like vines, strangling all the anger out of him.

What's left is the blunt pain of rejection, and Bill slams into it every time his eyes stumble upon a careless little bruise, just an inch under Gini’s navel. She gasps when he presses it softly, unaware of it like she is of the shadow crossing Bill's gaze.   
His movements are frenzied when he pushes himself up once again, and the pause allows Gini's conscience to surface from the blur of exasperated arousal for one split second, acknowledging the creases between Bill's brows, the dark circles around his eyes, the fierceness with which he shoves her legs together to tear her underwear away. Her knees thump together, but pain is just the weird interlude between Bill's rough fingers inside of her and the heat anticipating the small slap his cock makes when he rests it on her pubic bone, damp and heavy and possibly harder than anything Gini has ever touched. It makes her mouth water, and her eyes shoot up to Bill's: this time, when Gini chokes on her breath, it has nothing to do with the wet head of his dick sliding down towards her entrance. Gini doesn't try to name the emotion she sees looming behind Bill's pupils, and tells herself that her perception is too skewed to think rationally right now, even though there's nothing rational about the tongue-and-teeth kiss they share when the tip of Bill's cock pushes past the ring of quivering muscle. Gini feels her triceps clench painfully and her elbows throb whenever she wriggles her wrists in the restraint, and she moans in Bill's mouth as he slides all the way in, breaking the kiss to groan and pant against the side of her parted lips, sweat dripping from his curls onto Gini's forehead. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I'm officially getting ridiculous in this one.   
> I definitely feel like I've been overly prosaic and dramatic, but hey, my dramatic-ness has been complimented on the previous one.. so there you go.   
> Yeah it's basically a very complicated way to describe sex without actually describing it. And that's because I actually hate visually describing it. So yeah.. I may return on this one when I write the ending, but I just want to throw what I already have out here.  
> Enjoy!

This is too much, she thinks when he slowly starts to pull out and move back in, her mind swarming with a litany of "just fuck me already", "fuck you", "I'm sorry" and "I can't take it anymore" that find their way to her mouth, but come out as screams and gasps and moans that stab Bill's balls and make his cock pulse with each thrust. He screws his eyes shut, so tight he feels the circular muscles moving his eyeballs hurt, his teeth closing around the lobe of Gini’s ear, and he can feel her windpipe shift and spasm under his lips.

He can’t help but admire his own pathetic struggle, the raw power of the civil war infuriating behind his sternum: the enamel of his teeth seems to come alive with the need to tear through her skin, so soft and vulnerable Bill’s tongue can almost taste the blood rushing underneath, but the more he tries to force his jaw to clench around the tiny bundle of flesh, the more his body mutinies, like he’s the captain of a ship and a crew that already accepted the superiority of the storm. So Bill shoves his forehead in the crook of Gini’s neck, hard against the jut of her sweat-slick collar bone and glances through his lashes at his own hands, gripping at her hips, his thumbs digging into the dip beside her iliac crests, his other fingers pushing in the opposite direction on the other side of her body, like magnets calling to each other, unaware of what they crush on their way, and Bill can feel the analogy on himself in the way Gini’s thighs seal around his floating ribs, in how he knows her biceps would feel like a pincer around his neck, if she was free to move.

The effort it takes Bill to keep his pace excruciatingly slow is like a prong wedging its way through the abstract feeling of chaos and speed clotting his brain, splashes of colors and heat and Gini’s torn moans lapping at the walls of his skull, while he marvels at the desperate force of his heartbeat, at the gruesome simplicity a stranger might see if they were to watch them from a corner of the dim-lit room.

It had all finally come down to the core of Bill and Gini’s relationship, the moment where they accept and acknowledge that they once again lied to and manipulated and hurt each other, that they both knew all along, and stared in each other’s eyes knowing the other knew as well. And yet maybe they knew it never mattered either, nothing ever really mattered in the end because it’s so true, not only it is now hard to tell where one stops and the other begins, it’s impossible to disentangle the intricate net of years spent working side by side, the complete blending of two brains from the primitive, instinctive pull that has driven them towards and away from each other from the very start.

This is what they both would recognize if they weren’t so caught in the attempt to pull each other out from the respective skins, engulfed in a tightening bear-trap of sweat, resentment, pleasure and violence. But what’s so good about sex, what Bill had always secretly worshipped about it, is that when it all narrows down to the last moments there’s no place for elaborate thought anymore, and whatever happens is the manifestation of the truest, most authentic part of oneself.

As he lets go of what’s left of his conscious resolve, Bill reaches up to untie the mess that is his shirt, still knotted around Gini’s wrists: her arms shoot forward like twisted, slightly rusty springs, shaking a little with the basic, powerful feeling of blood starting to flow normally again. It must hurt, even just a bit, but there’s no sign of it in the wild gleam lighting up her eyes when her shoulders realize they’re totally free.

It’s a collision, but a consensual one: Bill’s body falls into and against the embrace of Gini’s, her arms and legs pulling him in like vines, dry flames dancing somewhere inside of her where he’s thrusting himself deeper and deeper, where their ends meet and clash together and Gini can’t tell if they’re trying to become one or to recreate nuclear fusion right there, inside her belly, with Bill’s hands keeping her grounded to the atmosphere and cradling her nape, with their voices slashing the thick, damp air in the room, leaving their throats like moans but bouncing back to their ears like gasps and sobs.

They may have known everything all along, they both may think they always know more than the other, but the whole universe knows in that moment they’re equal, but so inherently different that no other human being could take either of their places, not when every cell belonging to Bill feels like it’s crying and dying and exploding at the same time as the whole of Gini’s body clenches around him, like an electric glove squeezing the paradox of humanity out of his tissues.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's basically lots of feelings and bill letting his doctor and poet side mingle. I'm posting this while it's still hot from the oven as usual, so excuse typos and stuff. Also, sorry for taking soooooooooooo long with this!

Gini's mouth feels bone-dry, as dry as the world outside the drawn curtains must be, since all the foggy waters that glue life on earth together seem to have gathered in the small atmosphere of her bedroom.  
Sweat retreats from the patches of her skin that aren't trying to melt into the other warm body half-laying on top of Gini. Bill's body.  
Bill's back staring at the ceiling, quietly rising and falling with the breath that keeps his conscience there beside her, both awake and aware of his thigh laying heavy and damp on top of Gini's. Bill's still angry veins and the forearm that's trying to hold them in with the unyielding help of Gini's stomach beneath it. Bill's eyes, as rocky and lonely as a boulder keeping it's head above the surface of the ocean, salty drops clinging to its crooked walls and its beauty as hurtful as its fire-spluttering birth.  
The ghost of Bill's whole spectrum of emotions is still slightly nudging Gini's cervix, just the speck of a feeling that's softly making it's way through her skin and muscles, and when his fingers draw circles around her navel, Gini remembers the first time she saw him cry, that same hand clutching hers. Now there above them, floating with the smell of sex and the clinking echo of broken "don't stop"s, are the conclusions that Gini's brain won't allow her to grasp and speak aloud; and maybe it's because Bill's lips and cheek, squished against Gini's pillow, still look like they belong exactly there after all these years, but she feels like this very room won't ever allow her to throw him out without tearing a chunk of herself off in the process too. 

The stain of her on every single sense Bill possesses slowly fades from unbearably material to painfully distant, so similar to that nightmare your body knows to be crucial to the basic understanding of your own self, but your mind just won't hold onto.  
He moves his thigh the slightest bit, just to remind his pragmatic brain that technically, physically he's the one between Gini's legs, right now. For now. For however long this may last. The damp brush of Gini's labia against his muscle makes the inside of bill's head feel like the foggy stillness of the room is moving very, very fast, so he slows the movements of his fingers around her navel. Cosmic payback if you will.  
Her eyes stay closed, but her lips part with the quiet sound dry lips make when they're being ripped open reflexively, and she sighs, her hips pushing upwards, goosebumps all over her arms and legs, her nipples. She must be getting cold, then. Huh. 

When Bill sits up, Gini finally twists around and pulls the sheets up, tucks them under her armpit.  
He snapshoots the image of Gini balled up in clean white sheets and her messed up hair -he's so beyond caring about clichès anyway- then swings his legs off the edge of the mattress, bending down to get his lonely clothes.  
Everytime he blinks, her jugular rages up from the clear expanse of her neck, behind his eyelids. Face twisted, her pulse speaks to him through his memories. They still haven't said a thing, and it's been a very long time since Bill has felt so exposed, being in Gini's bed next to her, so long he almost gets scared at the force of all the pushed down, old confessions prodding against the clenched mouth of his stomach.  
It's like stuffing your face with something you used to eat in your teenage years to numb the fury of feelings, but now it just gives you a heartburn.  
Hah.  
Yeah, a heartburn.

She has truly been that, hasn't she?  
A stubborn mystery, first appearing as a lean, glowing red tube, back when bill's true form was still developing, tiny cells of him differentiating and stacking up in some nearby organ, dense with promises he made to himself a long time before.  
It was his decision, of that he's almost always certain, to start naturally flowing towards her, using his still uncertain, rubbery ways and letting himself be encircled, guided. Of course, he didn't realize at the time: it's not really possible for a river to be conscious of the bedrock underneath it, when the connection nature makes is something so obvious. The deepest layers of water know all along, but the surface? Well, just try and stop that roaring idiot to let it know, if you can.  
So how could he have noticed? He couldn't possibly feel that slim tube expanding, giving way under the rushing and crashing of Bill's red-hot waves, each new lap around the circuit he was building bearing new waste, new old stuff to get rid of, new fresh ideas to carry around this newborn organism that was slowly growing around them.  
No, fuel has no idea who's propelling it, and Bill had no idea his propeller had started twisting around, blowing up parts of herself to better take him in and then spur him on, to allow him to see the right way and take it without wasting time and energy that could be used in other, better places. The narrow tube had become the unrelenting, powerful, immensely complicated source of motion behind his endless running; the newborn growing around them had become the fully formed, intricate machine that still relied on the both of them to keep breathing and walking further and further and further.

Short breathed, Bill looks up from his now tied shoes and his hands hover on the button of his shirt close to the left side of his chest. He shakes his head a bit: being resented at his own pulse is kind of a new one.  
On his feet, he slips his belt trough the loops of his pants and shoots a look at his watch on the bedside table: he'd taken it off because he already knew what was gonna happen.  
Did he? Does a dog know it's raising it's fur before it starts to growl?  
As he bends to gather a few scattered papers laying on the ground, Gini's voice is not nearly close enough when it hits his starved eardrums.

"Leave it Bill, I'll do that in a bit"

It's soft, though.

"I'm.. I'm sorry I threw them around"  
"Well you made up for it at least"

As quiet as it was, as mirthless as her smile is, the warmth of her tone wraps around his shoulders immediately; an old, familiar blanket.  
He huffs the smallest laugh back at her, straightens his back a little.

"I uh, I should go then.. I didn't wanna say anything but you look a little tired you know"

"We both do"

She's become the most amazing, functional, self relying thing, and she's still kind of a crimson mystery.  
Welcoming him in to swiftly push him out. Again and again and again. 

"I'll se you tomorrow then"

"Goodnight bill"

Just a few steps into his new lap, and he closes the door on his beating heart, wrapped in clean white sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bills exit is so cool because the door is like the semilunar valve closing when the bloodflow leaves the heart. Just wanted to leave it here in case anybody didn't know how the heart works. I'm gonna throw a quick explanation too just in case.  
> So that whole analogy thing is basically the development of the heart and circulation, Gini being the heart, bill the blood and blood vessels, if you will. I had a whole bunch of other related ideas but it would have gotten way too long and obscure so there.  
> Enjoy!


End file.
